


When We Let It Boil

by I_am_a_Ruin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fighting, hinted at spamano, mama spain, spain is too pure for her own good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_a_Ruin/pseuds/I_am_a_Ruin
Summary: Marianne and Alice have a lot of unresolved tension and don't know how to talk to each other.





	

They had always been insanely passionate.

But that was the problem. The intense, loving passion that made Marianne weak in the knees and her chest ache never seemed to end the constant tidal waves of absolute fury. 

They would be shaking, red in the face, as hot tears of pure anger rushed down their cheeks. Neverending screaming and accusations. It could be over the smallest of grievances such as Alice simply disagreeing with her over a brand of margarine; or the worst when Alice would smoke or Marianne would drink and one felt worthless and the other neglected. Of course they never expressed that. They just screamed about everything and never coherently addressed the problems, both too full of pride to admit they needed more.

On occasion they would fall into bed and make up with a rough bout of sex. But the hurt and anger would continue to boil just below the surface. 

Sometimes Marianne would lie in bed and Alice would be just drunk enough to begin sobbing. And she would hold her and everything would dissipate. It would just be protecting this woman from anything this world would throw to hurt her. But in the morning, Marianne would hurt her all over again.

The final fight had been inevitable. They both subconsciously knew it was coming and feared it. 

Alice, in the tensest part of the argument when Marianne accused her of being a stupid, selfish addict without thinking because one hardly ever gives time to process what they will toss at the other in a fight, raised her fists and shook her head wildly. She shrieked those two three-letter words in a moment of pure, desperate rage. “ _ Get out! _ ”

The room was silent as though a trigger had been pulled and Marianne was shot and bleeding on the floor. Alice stared at her, agony sparkling in her eyes. The second passed and the British woman grabbed for a small, decorative vase and threw it in roughly Marianne’s direction. “ _ GET OUT, DAMMIT! _ ”

And she could only blink at her, frozen to the carpet. Unable to cry as her body became stone, Marianne just stared blindly at her wife. She breathed the single word, “Alice.” 

And then she just shut down. Some robotic force inside her took over and led her body out of their home and down the street. She walked and walked until she just collapsed in the middle of an empty street outside someone’s home just  _ bawling _ . The sobs wracked her frame and drowned out any noise. Her ears rang violently and those two words cycloned inside her brain. Her fingers clawed at cement, small pebbles and rough surface scraping her soft skin and leaving tiny cuts on her hands. She could feel her sticky mascara staining her face and for once could not care less how she looked.

Alice had actually kicked her out. 

“Ma’am, hey.” A hand shook her shoulder, begging for her attention with its concerned touch. 

She blinked tearfully at them, unable to bring them in to focus through her blurred vision. 

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, maybe even repeated. Marianne wasn’t sure how long she and her car had been there.

She shook her head, her tears slowing. Finally, she could make out the woman. Dark, chocolate curls and kind green eyes, just a few shades darker than… Hers.  Behind the worried woman was two small children in the backseat of her car. All three of them were watching her.

“Are you sure? Can I give you a ride somewhere?” the woman asked. “My name is Carmen.”

“Could you… C-can I go home?” Marianne pleaded, her throat choking on the words and her tongue forgetting how to properly form them. 

“Of course. Just tell  me your address. Can I do anything else for you? I can bring you some food or something…” the woman, Carmen offered sweetly, already opening the door to her car.

“ _ Non _ . The ride is all I need,  _ merci beaucoup. _ ” Marianne managed gratefully.

“Of course. If my wife was ever out here… I would want someone to bring her back too.” Carmen told her, eyes glancing up into the rearview mirror to check on her children.

Marianne did not ask how she had guessed. She merely thanked her once more for the ride when she arrived and stood on her porch and stared at the door. 

When she tried to open it, she found it locked. She fell heavily to her knees, forehead pressed wearily to the cold wood. “ _ Alice, s’il tu plait… _ ” her whispered plea would go unheard but she continued to murmur it. Unable to knock or ring the bell for fear of being turned away, she stayed on the porch for a long time.

It was when her hand eventually hit the welcome mat that she remembered the spare key. She pulled out the loose, hollowed-out brick they kept it in and tentatively opened the door. The house was dark and quiet. Unless, of course, one was listening for the sound of indistinct crying. It was oh, so faint but definitely there. 

She forced herself to the kitchen where she found Alice already fumbling with a pack of cigarettes, her eyes red and puffy and one shaky hand furiously scrubbing the tears away in vain. The pack fell and the small cancer sticks rolled out across the wood floor and Alice swore angrily and kicked at the cabinets. Marianne was not sure Alice even knew she was there. 

“ _ Desole. _ ” Marianne said as loud as she could make herself be, which was rather quiet and strained.

Alice froze and stared at her. It was the first time in a very long while either of them had ever apologized. 

She could feel the tears returned. She moved forward, frightened Alice would push her away but risking it out of pure desperation. The Frenchwoman sank to her knees and pressed her face into Alice’s stomach, arms wrapped tight around her thighs. “I am so sorry, Alice. So sorry.” The words tumbled out on hysterical tears, pleading for forgiveness. Begging to be kept.

A trembling hand very lightly touched her the top of her head. It rested there in her hair as she cried. And then she felt Alice’s legs give out and she dropped to the floor as well. 

Alice buried her face in the crook of Marianne’s neck, swearing between choked gasps for air. “How could you leave? How could you leave?!” the woman demanded, clutching at her wife’s back.

Marianne kissed the damp hair on the side of Alice’s hair. “I’m here.”

And a part of her knew this would take so long to fix. It would require so much more than meaningful, desperate promises and tear-soaked skin and clothing. It would need the strong thread of heartbreaking conversation and reconciliation to sew up the deep wounds and likely a steady, guiding hand. 

However, in that moment, she would hold the smaller blonde woman and remember how badly this hurt to remind her later on how willing she was to work for their marriage, no matter how long they must.


End file.
